deans happy place

Baby, I’m dancing in the dark, with you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song
When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful
I don’t deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight

redbubble

2

[ au’s that exist elsewhere ]

He didn’t say much as the reaper came to him in the night, telling him that it was time, that he was going to have to pay the debt that he created that one evening. The reaper handed him the scythe and said that there was no world without death. He who kills death must become death himself.

And so that’s what Dean became.

He watched with tired eyes as his brother desperately tried to find a way to save Dean from this fate of an immortal eternity. He tried all the way up to the moment that Dean came for him one night, hand outstretched, saying that it was finally time to come with him.

And Sam did without question. He followed Death into the endless abyss, bowing his head for one final time.

[death!dean]

header art for almaasi’s new fluffy christmas fic: snow place like home (but my home is with you)! go check it out ( ^ ᴗ ^ )

dean and cas with the snapchat dog filter as a commission for @hautleysbend U´ᴥ`U♥

honestly,,, jeffrey dean morgan just makes me so happy
i’m sure if you know me you’re sick of hearing it (hi gail, fight me) but like
he seems so sweet and he’s extremely attractive and his face always makes me feel better when i’m sad
i want to hug this old man forever and ever

For the past decade Sam has dealt with his brother making out with hot chicks after cases while he sits in the car waiting. For the past decade.

So when Dean and Cas finally get their shit together, Sam is fucking thrilled until two days later when they’re separating after a case and Cas has Dean pushed up against the driver’s side of the Impala while he gropes his ass and aggressively makes out with him. 

Fucking great.

Sam sits in the passenger seat and after five entire minutes he decides he’s had enough and honks the horn.

This goes on for months.

Case wraps up, Cas has somewhere to be, make out session at the Impala, Sam honks horn.

Sam snaps the day Cas turns Dean around and basically dry humps him while Dean presses his hands into the roof of the car making…horrible noises. 

“Sure, Sammy, we’ll stop,” is all Dean says when Sam explodes at him on their ride home.

The next time Dean and Cas are saying bye, they don’t kiss or hug or grope at all. 

No, instead they do the handshake from Parent Trap.

Six times in a row.

Sam slides over to the driver’s seat and leaves them on the side of the road.

anonymous asked:

Hey, can I ask for a mini drabble/one-shot? I've been having a rough day, and feel like shit... Would it be too much to ask for some comforting Dean with cuddles? Hope it's not too much. Have a good day or night


The motel room was cold, the air conditioner blasted from its hole in the wall below the window. I sat at the little round table in front of it, shivering, staring at my laptop. Sure, most of the shaking was from the cold, but also from the tears that had overtaken me and refused to leave.

When the door opened, I didn’t even look up, not caring to hide the flood on my face; he’d seen it plenty of times before.

“Beka? What’s wrong, baby?” Dean put the six pack and greasy sack of fast food down on the table next to me before sitting and reaching for the hand I had resting next to my computer.

With a sweeping turn of my free hand, I gestured to the computer.

“Again?” he asked.

I nodded, taking a gulping breath before my rambling explanation began. “I don’t understand. It says right in my bio “requests are closed”. I have answered the last 5 requests saying, “I’m sorry. Requests are closed.” I have also stated plainly and repeatedly they are closed, why the are closed, and implored them in plain English to not ask me and especially not to try and guilt me into it. Yet here we are again.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around my hand. He looked up at me with sympathetic, yet not totally understanding emerald eyes. “I’m sorry Bek.” He gave me a comforting half smile, obviously troubled by my troubles but not grasping the depths of them. “Why does this upset you so much? They just want a story. It’s flattering.”

“It is, Dean, believe me. It’s amazing to know someone likes my work and want a me to write something for them.”

“So why say no and let it upset you?”

“Because I cannot turn out stories left and right at the moment. Because, although I would like to, I cannot give a personalized story to every person who follows me and asks. Because I spend many hours of the free time I do not have sweating and crying and bleeding into these stories, and sometimes I cannot get them done. I cannot tell someone that I will write them a story, promise them something, and then not deliver because then I will feel bad. I do not like hearing that anyone is having a bad day or upset, but when they try to use that to guilt me into writing for them, it makes me feel extremely bad and guilty and then gives me a bad day. There are plenty of very talented and lovely fanfic writers on Tumblr who have their requests open and would be able to help anyone who asks. But I currently I’m not one of them. I too was having a bad day, and no one wrote for me.”

When I paused, neither of us was quite sure I was done, so we sat quietly staring at each other for a long moment. Apparently that wasn’t it, and I took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at the ceiling as another wave of guilt overtook me and filled my eyes with salt. “I suck. I’m sorry. I know. I can’t pop of fics like I used to. I try so hard to be supportive and helpful I’m loving to everyone and sometimes it weighs on me and I crack. I just can’t do what I used to do. I have been in physical pain all week. That werewolf really wrenched my shoulder and my entire arm is killing me and making typing very difficult. I’m so sorry. I really am. I just can’t do it.”

“Beka, stop.” Dean tugged at my hand, trying to get me to look at him, but I couldn’t. I was stuck in a loop of guilt and self doubt. I spun around in my own head, bouncing off the hundreds of ideas I’ve failed to write, the dozens of people I’ve let down, the handful of friends I thought I had that have left me. I spun and spun until I thought I would collapse. But as I fell, a strange thing happened. A hand caught me. One, big, strong hand with thick, callused fingers wrapped around mine and kept me from falling. I opened my eyes, and there he was. My rock. My happy place. Dean. Before I lost the nerve, I leaned forward and kissed his lips. Just a thank you. Just a quick thing to remind him how much I need him.

“What was that for?”  he asked as his cheeks blushed.

I shrugged, “For putting up with my shit. I suppose.”

Dean smiled and got up, pulling me to stand next to him. “I’ll always put up with your shit, Beka.” With that, he did the thing that I loved the most. The thing that he knew I needed before I even did. He wrapped his strong arms tight around me and held me to his chest rocking gently until all my tears had ceased. Then it was a kiss to the top of my head and a squeeze on the shoulder as he released me. “You good?”

“Yeah, Dean, I’m good.”

He winked and sat back down to unload our dinner. “Good,” he smiled. “Now sit, I’m starving.”